https://www.huffpost.com/entry/abandoned-baby-birth-story-adopted-korea_n_6553d968e4b05cf51a16a5c2
It’s always the same pattern with women adoptees: adopted, wondering about their past, a husband scoops them up, they have a baby and the story arc ends. “You were alone in your life but now you have re-created a family that is YOURS.” Everyone smiles. It’s adorable. And scene.
It’s a lot different for a black man adoptee. There are logistics issues; I couldn’t just simply become a wife, I’m a boring straight so that doesn’t work. I’ve had to find my place in this world within a system that is quite actively not helping black men (or if it does help, it is bound to be shut down at all costs), and more likely trying to kill us all or make us as impotent as possible.
That’s a pretty big difference!
Childhood trauma or not, difficulty of connecting with people or not, I’ve had to make moves because there was and is just no other way. I’ve had to forget that things are a bit different for me. I never used my energy to make things up about my past. I used it to funnel myself into a sense of normalcy. We here. It’s 100% OK to be here. Grafted or not, it doesn’t really matter. Relationships are built. Literally and figuratively, a big heart is built too. All of that is something you do, not something that is.
My birth family and blood relatives never existed for me and likely never will. It’s fine! It’s easy to have a kid by mistake. Very easy. Birth happened, I was the result. The adults who created me bounced. Some others showed up and said “he’s cute, let’s grow him well” and it went on. There’s no narrative thread, really. That’s something I see a lot: adoptees who become writers because they think a lot about stories. I think a lot about systems. And fixing them.
I’m more design-minded. Systems create stuff. Stuff moves on and creates other stuff and systems. It is endless.